5. I found a lost sock when I unfolded a crisp cotton sheet to replace the cozy flannel ones on my bed.
6. So far, my loved ones are all healthy.
7. My house smell lovely from two little glasses filled with flowers.
8. All my chores are done and the day is mine.
9. The last coat of paint in the bathroom is on and the project, including beautiful new vanity, is expected to be complete this week. Then – on to the back bedroom.
10. While I’m distressed about not being able to travel, I have a home that is safe and comfortable and that I am able to afford. None of that is taken for granted.
Hope you’re staying healthy and your Sunday is equally good. Don’t forget to be kind, including to yourself.
This crisis is starting to feel like it’s been going on for a long time. The colors of the construction paper window rainbows are fading.
The city without people looks beautiful in a stark sort of way. We live in a pretty place.
Wearing a mask suffocates me, yet another reason medical personnel deserve all of our respect during these horrific times. I can’t imagine wearing one, with a face shield on top, for 14 hours a day.
Can this incredibly challenging situation prompt us to “reset” society?It would be beyond tragic if things just went back the way they were P.C.
Isolating without a partner makes one think about what they might want in a potential partner. I imagine isolating with a partner does the same.
It’s really hard to stay on task, something I’m just realizing may not be a situation exclusive to myself.
I worry about social distancing as the weather gets warmer.
Has a cough ever sounded as scary to you? How many times a day do you wonder if you might have been exposed to the virus?
My #sixwordstory would have to be: My dog has never been happier.
I’ve taken to putting cash in my pocket when I got out for my daily walk. I call it my “walking around money” and try to find a way to spend it at a local, independent business during my walk.
Days seem really long, but the weeks are going by quickly. Losing all of this time with friends and loved ones is something we’ll never be able to recover. I hope we learn to value those shared experiences more than ever once we have them in our lives again.
Even when the skies are grey and intermittently spitting some combination of rain and snow, one must believe that the sun will come out again and shine. It just has to.
One day we’ll reflect back on these times and what we learned from the unimagined challenges of today. I wonder how we’ll be different.
I look forward to one day remembering when…
…Andrew Cuomo became my generation’s Kennedy and the country’s hottest bachelor.
…We learned that our country was home to people who binge purchase paper products without a care about denying others the opportunity to purchase the same traditional essentials?
…Grocery store excursions became explorations as you were forced to substitute random items for those on your shopping list due to lack of availability.
…You realized that hanging out around a bonfire while in your 50s (or even 60s!) was even more fun than when you were in your teens
From the minute we’re born, we seem to be placing ourselves in, and extracting and ourselves from, one mess after another. It just seems unavoidable. Despite best intentions to keep things tidy and unsullied, maintaining an existence which is uncomplicated and neat feels impossible. At least to me.
Sometimes, especially when my three sons were younger, the mess is a physical one. Toys strewn from room to room, crumbs and mysterious sticky remnants of unauthorized bedroom snack consumption, and Lego blocks turning up unexpectedly underfoot like Christmas pine tree needles in July. Those days have mostly passed for me. My home is definitely neater, aside from multiple pairs of sneakers in alarmingly large sizes randomly abandoned in the precise spot where they were casually kicked off.
Literal messes happen to all of us – that box of blueberries that popped open and released uncountable orbs of blue all over the kitchen floor, tumbleweeds of dog hair, the leaky trash bag drizzling garbage juice all the way down the stairs as a final gross goodbye. For these situations we arm ourselves with sponges and brooms and cleaners. Getting things back in order is a chore to be managed, an accomplishment to forget about once it’s completed. No big deal.
Returning a physical mess to its previous state (or even one that’s improved) can be annoying, but generally it’s pretty easy. You wipe, sweep, mop and you’re done.
Life’s less tangible messes are a whole different story, though. Relationships and emotions are not nearly as easy to manage and they’re nowhere as simple to contain as even the most rogue of escaped blueberries. There’s nothing neat or tidy about our feelings and, since typically our emotional state is not independent of those we care about, limiting their impact on others is a much more difficult task.
Working through an emotional mess is a challenge, even if we attempt to deal with it in the same direct and efficient manner we use to address a spill. Unfortunately, there’s no product available to scrub our hearts or heads clean, no Shamwow to absorb all the emotions and thoughts swirling inside ourselves. Like the days of small boys behaving like mini cyclones in my previously neat home, it will pass. Until then, all one can do is their best to avoid stepping on anything that hurts.
Binge watch television programs. I demolished Sex Education and am aggressively working me way through Schitt’s Creek. The later is growing on me with each episode, while the former grabbed me immediately and remains in my thoughts. Of course, I relate to Maeve more than any of the other characters, but, damn, Gillian Anderson’s performance in this series is remarkable. Wow. This quote keeps echoing in my hear and my heart:
“Try to stay honest because once you start lying it’s hard to stop.”
Amen.
I was thinking that ma’am just doesn’t agree with me. I’m not attempting to claim the title “Miss” but I’d much prefer “Milady.” It’s dignified, but still fun. I’m just not ready for ma’am.
I’m surprised that my knee doesn’t hurt me more. It’s feeling a little tight, but I imagine that to be some moderate swelling because you know I hate the ice when I’m injured. It’s very difficult to stay still when there isn’t pain.
Relationships being the exception to that rule.
Speaking of pain and relationships, Jeter has been amazingly calm since I came home from my surgery. He’s been on the couch right next to me consistently. I walked him this morning and he was sensitive to my hobble, even when that squirrel practically danced in front of Jeter as I fastened his harness.
On Monday, I did a flurry of cooking, roasting broccoli, pickling red cabbage from my Field Goods bag and making #thestew from the NYT with the addition of cubed tofu. I love having prepared food in my fridge.
A unexpected side benefit from all the cooking was a couple of cups of gorgeous purple liquid that I couldn’t resist pouring over my hair. I mean vinegar adds shine and who knows? Maybe my ends will absorb some of the color. I’ve been toying with adding a little color to my tips and this just might add a little tinge of purple.
It sucks that my knee is injured and I can’t fully do the active things I enjoy doing. I see a surgeon in early February and my only question will be: In your experience, what is the most successful plan of treatment for women in my age and activity range who are most interested in being able to resume normal activities (even at a modestly modified level) in the speediest fashion? That’s my bottom line. I want to run.
There were two articles which really spoke to, and for, me recently. There are things in life which will forever cause me to shake my head, sometimes in a nod and other times in “no.” Both of these NYT pieces made me forget to breathe. I can only link to one because they other one, “I Quit a Seven-Year Affair,” has been removed from the Times’ site.* I’m not sure how I feel about that move, but the piece did remind me of Mrs. Maisel’s choice to share as much about Shy Baldwin as she did in her performance at the Apollo. I knew there would be repercussions.
For god’s sake can we leave Megan and Harry alone? They’re entitled to their one precious life, too and Harry’s already seen how an uncivilized society can kill a woman he loves. Who cares how they choose to live?
Speaking of caring, there’s so little of that in the world right now. This recent picture of an absolutely beaming Megan Markle walking with her baby and dogs, collected some heated comments about Megan’s son not being safely fastened in his front carrier. Everyone had something critical or nasty or judgmental to say and no one simply offered to help her accomplish the task. We’re moms. We need to be nicer to each other.
At a just-turned-green light, I hesitated prior to shifting into first gear and the man in the big truck behind honked his horn and then pulled into the left lane to pass me, giving me the finger as he jerked his vehicle in front of me. I shrugged. Whatever. As we approached Fuller Road, I moved into the right hand turn lane and, again, he aggressively yanked his truck partially in my path. I’d be afraid to witness his response to something beyond a too slow start at a green light.
This morning, J, shared a story about some kids pulling a Ding-Dong Ditch which resulted in the deaths of three teenagers. The home owner whose bell was rung, felt the need to pursue these kids at high rates of speed prior to ramming his vehicle into theirs and forcing them off the road and causing them to crash. What is the matter with people? Why are folks overly reactive to minor transgressions, yet numb to the way our government is broken? Is it an assertion of control in a world which feels increasingly unspun. Or maybe it’s actually overspun.
In the last week I was recognized by a reader I had never met (Hi P!) in a really complimentary way and told at an event a few nights later that I looked like Emma Stone. That’s a good week right there.
I read a book this week and can’t stop thinking about, Free Lunch by Rex Ogle. I’m working on a full post.
I can’t imagine a better Friday night than a winter one spent at Cafe Capriccio eating eggplant, drinking red wine and hearing a set of quality live jazz.
Happy Chinese New Year. It’s the Year of the Rat, but, honestly, isn’t that what we’ve been living with for the last three years?
RT @dominickpurnomo: Please retweet. @feedalbany will be distributing free prepared meals including this pie, baby food, diapers, toilet pa… 8 hours ago
This crisis is 
